by AJ Adams
To hide my fear, I shut my eyes and leaned into him. Rip’s arms came up and held me. “Well now, isn’t that sweet?”
The hands were running lightly over my back. The gentle touch, hard body, and earthy scent rolled over my fear, bringing comfort. It was insane, but my gut told me I was safe with my guardian angel even though my head was screaming that I was deluded.
We sat there, with Rip thinking. I couldn’t even begin to guess what was going on in his head. He might be considering whether killing me would help his themed murders or where to buy a milk jug. I really didn’t know.
“I can’t go back,” I whispered. “I want to forget the past.”
“Is that so?” Rip said thoughtfully. “As it happens I’m looking for a girl.”
“W-what?”
“A nice, quiet girl,” Rip said. “You’ll do very nicely.”
“M-me?”
“Precisely.” The soulless eyes were staring at me. “You want a new life, don’t you?”
A life with Rip? Knowing the second the Zetas discovered my identity I’d be dead? It would be a living torture. There was no way I could stay. I’d go insane.
“It would solve the security problem,” Rip murmured.
“S-security problem?” My heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest.
“You listening in to my calls,” Rip reminded me. “It really was unfortunate.”
I just stared at him. He was telling me I was a witness. The kind that hit men get rid of.
“You’ll stay then, Morgan.” Rip’s voice was final. “It’s so much safer.”
Safer. Dear lord. I was quaking again.
His phone rang again. It was a jaunty tune that I half-recognised. Rip pulled it out of his pocket, casually spilling me into his lap. This was familiar too. I’d sat here with him, imagining a chorus of angels. I must have been mad.
“Kyle, hello.” Rip sounded happy, but his body was tense.
Sitting on top of him, the odd word drifted through from the other side. “Sokolov... Flight... Confirmed.”
“I’ll keep an eye out,” Rip said. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“...speak?”
Rip was looking at me speculatively. “She’s come out of it, but we’re only just getting to the details.”
I was holding my breath, wishing I could disappear in a puff of smoke.
Rip was gazing at me intensely, then his eyes blurred a moment, as if he were about to zone out. For a moment I wondered if I should run. But Rip snapped back, saying, “If you think she’s a threat, I’d be happy to hand her over. You could come and debrief her.”
At that, the world swam before my eyes. Debrief meant water boarding, electric shocks, and God knows what else. I’d seen it on 24, NCIS and Homeland.
Maybe I should have been brave, but I wasn’t. Ten seconds of torture, just the threat of it, and I’d be spilling my guts. Then they’d kill me or maybe toss me to Los Osos, seeing they were associates.
Rip knew I was scared. I could see it in his eyes. He held on to me as Kyle the debriefer was asking questions.
“She says her ex tried to kill her, and that she can’t go back,” Rip had a sparkle in his eye. For some reason that was good news. “She’s so afraid of him that she won’t say her name.”
There was a murmur.
“I could probably worm it out of her,” Rip agreed. “But this is your area of expertise, isn’t it? I have some experience but I’ve a distressing tendency to kill my subjects. Now you, as I understand it, have a gift for causing endless pain. Some say your mere presence is enough.”
The world was swirling around me. My stomach was churning, and I couldn’t breathe. Spots danced in front of my eyes.
In the distance, I heard Rip say, “It probably won’t need much. After all, she’s just a girl. It would be crushing a fly with a hammer.”
My breath was rasping in my chest, trapped there as my throat squeezed shut. I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. Rip or one of his twisted Zeta friends would make me talk, and then I’d be dead.
I was so scared, that I finally worked right through my fear, coming out the other side. My courage flared, and I was shoving at the hard chest, on my feet and running.
However, I got to my feet so fast that I crashed into a table, ricocheted into a parasol, went flying through the air, hit the side of the pool and landed in the water.
I knew I had to swim, but the bang on the head was making me see spots. I moved without seeing, making for the surface. Somehow though I was going down instead of up. I hit tile.
That did it; water ran into my mouth and nose. I was drowning.
Chapter Thirteen: Rip
“A debrief?” Kyle’s disgust was coming through loud and clear. “Seriously?”
I was hoping he’d react this way, and so I was pleased that my needling him had the desired effect. The enforcer would be ruthless with the enemy, and he’d see that as his proper work, but pretending I thought he would take apart an innocent hurt his self-image.
If I’d let him come over, he would have suggested clearing the girl’s way home by taking care of the ex with a bullet. But now Kyle would stay well away, giving me time to work on the girl. Our little chat had been very revealing, and I was seeing my way to a splendid plan.
Morgan’s fears were crystal clear. She was scared witless of her ex, and she was well aware that she was deep in trouble, too. I couldn’t have planned her overhearing my conversation with Arturo if I tried, and it made it all perfect.
Of course, the threat that she knew too much was an empty one. A two-minute call of which she only overheard my side meant absolutely nothing. But the beauty of it was that over time, she would truly become a witness.
I’d jumped on the idea of using Kyle to enforce her fears because I wanted her to know that causing trouble would have some nasty consequences. By piling up her worries, she’d be less likely to make a fuss once she tumbled to my true nature.
So I played my game, giving in to all my worst instincts and teasing Kyle mercilessly. As I chatted, I was glorying in the fact that I was manipulating cold, clever Kyle and eyeing Morgan, knowing I was pushing her around neatly too. “It would be like crushing a fly with a hammer,” I said.
Morgan had no clue that quiet, monosyllabic Kyle was exploding in my ear. “For Christ’s sake! She’s been in your care for weeks! Don’t you have any goddamn human feelings?” He was still reaming me when Morgan bashed me solidly in the chest, bounced out of my lap, and made a break for it.
She ran blindly, not towards anywhere, just away. She went flat out, racing along like a frightened rabbit. She was so panic-stricken that she banged into the table, the pool umbrella, and straight into the pool.
It was like a Wile E. Coyote cartoon. She went over the edge, seemed to stop in midair, and then she went in with a tsunami-sized splash.
Kyle was still yelling in my ear so I stopped him with, “You’re totally right. Listen, Morgan just threw up. Can I call you back?”
“Pinche cabrón!” Kyle snarled as he slammed down the phone.
I went to the pool and saw Morgan had gone straight to the bottom. I could see her struggling, her mouth opening, gulping in water. I didn’t hesitate. I went in after her. I had her out in a jiffy, laying her on the grass, and watching her retch.
You’d think she’d be grateful, but to my surprise she punched me in the chest, gasping, “Get away from me!”
I wasn’t having that, so I was on her straight away, holding her wrists, forcing her flat on her back and pinning her. The wrists were little and the body slender, but she fought like a demon.
“Fucker! Bastard! I’ll kill you!”
The hips bucked fruitlessly as she tried to heave me off in fear and rage. Of course, she couldn’t shift me. She was helpless underneath me.
That’s when it happened. Looking down into the angry, frightened eyes, I felt a rush of power. It was superb, almost like trapping a target. Except that was all in my head
, and this went straight to my cock.
I had a hard-on that was about to Incredible Hulk through my jeans. I wanted her, and I was going to have her. Domination and victory were rushing through me, sending sparkles into the day. “I win,” I chortled.
“No!” The fight just drained out of her. Morgan’s eyes were wide with fear. She had grey eyes, but now I saw there were little gold flecks shimmering near the iris. “No, please!”
I was alive and in control, master of my world and of the girl struggling beneath me. “I’ve caught you,” I whispered. “Now you have to pay.”
Morgan gasped, stiffened, and before I could stop her, she’d fainted. I stared down at the freckles, standing out dark against the pale skin. She looked fragile and helpless, but she was a fighter to the core. It was a delicious contrast.
I wanted to fuck her senseless, to dive into that soft body and pound myself into oblivion. The lust was raging, and it shocked me.
Over the years there had been women, pros mostly and the odd casual pick up, but I’d never really enjoyed myself. I’d come to the conclusion that sex couldn’t compare to the intense experience of the hunt.
I did have a go at sadism, I think it was a dungeon in Istanbul or it might have been Kiev, but it did absolutely nothing for me. I’d tried bondage, too, in a whorehouse in Amsterdam, but frankly it was a yawn.
But that tussle with Morgan was totally different. The surging power was waning, but even now I had a truncheon that wouldn’t quit. It hinted at all sorts of exciting possibilities. Just imagining her tied up and at my mercy was intoxicating.
Morgan was out, but when I tapped her face, she moaned. I got off her and curled her up. She’d banged her head, but there was only the lightest of grazes just under her hairline. She was breathing fine; she’d be okay.
Strangely enough I was relieved and not just for my own needs. That was also a surprise. Clearly having looked after her those three weeks had culminated into a feeling of investment.
But when I stroked a wet tendril off her cheek, she opened her eyes, shied away and then snapped at me. Her teeth caught the skin of my palm, and it hurt like hell.
“Fiend!” Her whisper carried clearly.
I leaned over her instinctively, “One word out of you, and you go back into the pool,” I snarled quietly. “This time I won’t pull you out.”
She was frozen, a rabbit seeing a fox. It boosted the little shivers of ecstasy still washing through me.
“You’ll stay,” I told her. “You play by my rules. No arguments.”
She nodded, her eyes so wide that the gold flecks stood out clearly.
“Don’t forget,” I said. “Cross me and you’ll suffer for it.”
“Y-yes.”
Morgan had caught just a glimpse of my real self, and she was paralysed. I lifted her up, scooping her against me. She was shivering, and when she turned her face into my neck, I thought for a spilt second she’d bite again. But Morgan was past fighting.
She was shaking and cold so I carried her inside and took her straight upstairs. She sat on the edge of my bed, white-faced and trembling.
“Strip and have a shower,” I said to her. “A hot one.”
“I feel sick,” she whispered. Then she bolted past me into the bathroom.
Looking in, I saw her heave over the porcelain bowl. I left her to it and got changed myself. My shirt was sodden too, and when I looked closely, I spotted a spray of cousin Eduardo’s blood over the sleeve.
When I looked in on Morgan, she was sitting by the loo, pale but still tracking. “Shower,” I reminded her. “Then come down to the kitchen.”
She didn’t speak but from the way she looked, Morgan wasn’t going to risk pissing me off.
Down in the kitchen, I got out the bleach, hoping to rescue my shirt. The tap was leaking, dripping in steady rhythm. I really had to find a plumber. The shower in my bathroom and the guest room also leaked, as well as the outside tap for the garden hose.
Scrubbing at the blood industriously, I reflected that Campello had neglected even routine maintenance. I was certain the car, boat, and bikes needed work too, but I was blessed if I knew what. I’ve never been mechanical.
I rescued my shirt, but calling Kyle was trickier. I really needed to channel him properly. Okay, so I was an ex Marine and black ops specialist, now immersed in the cartel with my half brother. Wily, clever, controlled, and righteous.
Delving into his psyche, I spent a good twenty minutes working it all out, and another twenty prepping before I picked up the phone.
“Morgan’s feeling poorly.” I was brisk. “I’ve told her to have a shower, and I’m putting her to bed early.” I ignored the thrill that washed through me.
“What has she said?” Kyle was curt, still angry with me.
“Not much. She’s scared we’ll send her back to her ex. She says it will be her death.”
“A bullet will sort him out.”
Told you. “I’ll suggest it to her. But not tonight. She’s fragile.”
“I’m surprised you care!”
Quiet, controlled Kyle was losing it. It had been useful and fun to provoke him but it was time to knuckle down and repair the damage.
“I do care, but I have a duty to Arturo too.” Would he fall for it? “I want to stay here, be part of the team, and I know it can mean sacrifices.”
There was a deep silence. “Right,” Kyle said reluctantly.
“I really don’t think Morgan is a threat.” I tried to sound humble. “I’d let her talk when she’s ready. But if you think she’s trouble, I’ll do what it takes.”
He was quiet, and I could feel him thinking, but I was buggered if I knew what was going through his mind. He was a very difficult subject. I crossed my fingers and hoped I’d pegged him right.
“Give her a few days,” he said eventually. “But no contact with the outside and watch her.”
“Can do.”
I had my reprieve, a window to firm up my hold on Morgan, and so I didn’t mind when Kyle abruptly cut the line.
Through the window, I could see the sun dipping towards the horizon. The pinks and oranges were stunning, and I stood staring for some time before I realised Morgan should have been down.
I found her in the bathroom, still unwashed, sitting trembling in a corner. One look was enough to tell me I had to be extremely careful. She had been pushed too far too fast.
Lots of my targets had moments like these, so I knew exactly what to do. “There’s tea in the kitchen.” I was calm and reassuring, pulling her back from hell. “A hot shower first, Morgan.”
“I won’t do it.” She was pale with fear but rebellious. “I won’t stay, and you can’t make me.”
Hell! I’d pushed her too far and she’d decided on defiance. Despite the brave words, though, she was trembling.
I put a finger under her chin, forcing her head up. “A shower and tea, or you go back into the river. You choose.”
It was a huge risk, because even drowning her a little would have shattered her sanity.
Luckily for me, she caved. “Tea,” she whispered.
I was so relieved that I was hugging her and piloting her under the hot water before she could change her mind. Twenty minutes later she was sitting at the kitchen table, wearing clean PJs and clutching a mug.
From her quiet absorbed silence, she was trying to sort out her options. She didn’t have any, but I didn’t think it needed pointing out. I was busy with supper, a stir-fry of peppers, onion, tomato wedges and chicken, cooked in a light soya sauce with ginger.
When I put a plate in front of her, she looked stunned. “I’ve fed you three times a day for three weeks,” I reminded her.
“Yes. No. I thought it was a dream.”
“Nice girls get supper.”
“I’m not nice.” But she said it quietly, as if to herself, so I didn’t answer.
We ate in silence, and then I put her to work. “Do the dishes, and don’t forget to wipe the counter t
ops.”
I watched her as she moved around, washing the plates, pan, and chopping board, and finally, picking up the kitchen knife. She was standing right behind me, holding it in her hand. She looked at the blade and then at my back. I could see her reflection quite clearly in the kitchen window.
Time stretched and she moved past me to the sink.
“You’ve made the right decision,” I said to her.
She was silent, but her attention was all on me. She was clearly puzzling out how I could have known what was going on behind me. Then she looked at the windows, shining brightly now that I was cleaning them once a week.
“Exactly,” I said to her.
Morgan didn’t say a word, and at that moment I decided I liked her. A fool would have tried to kill me. Morgan had thought about it but decided against it. She didn’t bother to deny it either.
Morgan was interesting. She had brains, and even better, I wouldn’t have to watch my back. I was used to people trying to kill me, but only a fool invites trouble. The test had assured me that Morgan wasn’t deadly.
She’d finished wiping down the counter. Her movements were economic but thorough. She was a neat girl, and efficient.
The tap was dribbling away. To my surprise, Morgan put down the cloth, unscrewed the top of the tap, pushed a rubber band into the gap and put it back. The constant drip vanished instantly, but I don’t think she even realised what she’d done. Her hands had suggested manual labour, and now I was thinking my girl was a plumber.
I didn’t let on that I was discovering more about her. “Let’s watch the news.” I wanted to see my latest reviews and also to reflect.
Showing off a healthy affectionate Morgan would ensure my acceptance by the Zetas, smoothing over any trouble they might have with me. I was also curious at the new pleasures to come.
I looked at the pretty face again. She’d be reluctant. Part of me was excited but sense warned me she might go off the edge again. “We’ll have a drink to celebrate your return to the living.”
Reaching into the drinks cabinet, I suddenly realised Morgan’s name had been inspired by my favourite tipple: Captain Morgan’s Jamaica Rum. As a blonde, I might have called her Bacardi but it wouldn’t have suited her. Bacardi is a name for airheads, and my Morgan had brains.